This would be a fine place to spend eternity.
From the lichened drystone wall where I sat the land rolled away to the horizon, a series of gradual grassy undulations punctuated with clumps of shrubs and trees. In the distance the peat browns and heather purples of the moor spread their muted patchwork; within the tiny churchyard itself, oaks, ashes and other trees were stretching (more…)
Well, this is exciting and scary in about equal measure. (There seems to be a lot of that in what the afternoon knows.)
I’m putting this up in case any of you might be interested in coming along. On Saturday 12th October one of the choirs I sing in is putting on the first (I’m trying not to say only!) performance of a piece which I have co-created: what the composer is calling a “dramatic cantata”, for which I have written the libretto. I’ve never done anything like this before and it’s all quite odd: I saw my name on a poster in the town centre the other day and wanted simultaneously to leave the country and also to take a selfie in front of it (and as you can imagine, I’m not normally a selfie girl. I compromised by taking a picture of the poster). I’ll have more to say when it’s officially a Thing, of course, but it would be lovely to see any wtak readers, their friends, and other singers, along to support us (those of you who are not already in it, of course!). Eeeeeek!
See you there…?
If we’d packed sun cream, of course, it would have peed down all week. As it was we only had my calculated-for-weight modicum of SPF moisturiser and it looked like there’d be sun, on and off, for the next two days. Fortunately, Danby Health Shop was right next door to the Duke. Inside, we breathed deeply of that arcane herbs smell proper to independent healthfood shops. Jenny invested a quietly startling amount of money in some extremely wholemeal organic sun cream, and we went outside to get ‘slapped up’, as Susie and I call it.
Easier said than done. The texture of the cream was such that, even after a good few minutes’ rubbing, we still looked like we’d been prepped to swim the channel. Better than getting lobstered, though. We slithered our way into our packs and set off on the ‘Danby Loop’ section of the SHW. (more…)
Two moulded plastic chairs, one grey, one a sort of institution pinky orange, stood in front of Hilda’s spring; another lay on its side at a distance away, under a tree. The grey one was covered with flies. The chairs were that low budget, stacking sort: curved, with metal legs, and a cut out section at the base of the back which is, I suppose, designed to make lifting and stacking easier but which my young self, at primary school, believed to be a vent to let the farts out.
There was something oddly touching (more…)
“It’s a high-risk activity,” the doctor I’d never met told me, down the phone. The man was a stranger and here I was having to talk to him about cramps and diarrhoea so that he could pronounce sagely about the potential for me shitting myself in a field. That’s a possibility? You don’t say.
But St Hilda’s Way had been beckoning for months. We’d booked hotel rooms, consulted local bus timetables, contemplated sawing (more…)